


Three

by 2SpaceGays



Category: Batwoman (Comic), DCU (Comics)
Genre: F/F, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 21:09:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7699444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2SpaceGays/pseuds/2SpaceGays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The three times Kate proposed to Maggie and the three times Maggie said yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set immediately following Batwoman Annual 1.

Watching _Fathers and Daughters_ pull away from the dock, Beth waving at me from the lower deck, I feel lighter than I have in a long time. Things aren’t perfect, _far from_ , but they’re getting better.

Beth is back, even if she’s worse for wear. I’ve got my dad back, too, thanks to Maggie and Bette. There were no civilian casualties from my stunt with the Arkhamites, and I’m finally free from the DEO – probably. And Batman kept his mask.

My soul remains intact.

I stay on the dock till I can no longer see Beth, till the yacht disappears beyond the horizon. I’m about to decide to head home when her hand slides across my lower back. I didn’t even hear her walk up, but I know it can only be Maggie Sawyer.

She’s supposed to be at work, dealing with the fallout I caused when I released the Arkhamites into Gotham. But here she is, right where I need her most. She’s incredible like that.

Her arms loop around my waist and I feel her body pressed against my back – proof again in the familiar shape of her that I’ve got the right woman.

I try not to pull a face when her wind-chilled nose touches my cheek on her way to rest her chin on my shoulder. Her voice is quiet, “You okay?”

I inhale the salty sea air. Exhale. My soul might be intact, but it’s still a bit rough at the edges. “No. But I will be. Pop’s taking Beth to my grandparents’ private island. He’s going to get her help. Away from all… _this_ .” I don’t need to elaborate on what _this_ is.

I feel Maggie nod, her warm breath stirring my hair, “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Kane women, it’s that they can get through almost anything.”

“We soldier on.” The words leave my mouth automatically, but they lack the resolve I normally feel when I say them. I’m exhausted.

Maggie’s lips press a tender, cool kiss into my cheek, her arms tightening around me. When she says the words, they hold all the steadfastness mine are missing. “Exactly. You _soldier on_.”

Mags is everything I need and everything I don’t deserve. I’ve put her through hell these last few months, coming out as Batwoman, springing that proposal on her, bringing her into this mess with Beth and Batman… But she hasn’t wavered for a second, even forced me to admit I needed help with this. She always knows precisely when to push me and when to let it lie.

Now is no exception. She lets us lapse into a silence broken only by the seagulls swooping and wheeling overhead and the gentle waves lapping against the other boats tied up to the dock.

She lets me be the one to break that silence, too, “Central must be in chaos right now. How’d you escape?”

“Secret tunnel.” She answers with a shrug so casual I have to snort. On our first date she complained about vigilante’s interfering with her case, and now she’s joking with Batwoman about secret tunnels.

Note to self: Check if there _is_ a tunnel under Central. Could be useful, especially if it comes out in Maggie’s office…

“IAD finished with us twenty minutes ago,” she goes on more seriously, “They’re meeting with the mayor to discuss Bones now. He’s getting the blame for the Arkhamites, thanks to Asaf and Bette. Some might filter down to Chase, but she’s already resigned. She told them she was blackmailing you with your father and Beth to unmask Batman. They don’t know how you’re connected other than that, and no one’s asking where Kate Kane was during all of this. Your identity’s safe, as far as I know.”

The answer isn’t what I expect: I figured as much about Bones and Chase, but I’m more worried about Maggie’s involvement in all this than I am about Batwoman right now. “What about you? You threatened the feds, even if they were crooked. You took out two of them… How’s that gonna play?”

I feel Maggie shrug again, this one dismissive. She isn’t concerned, and it’s a weight off my shoulders. “Harvey and I aren’t a priority right now, not with everything else going on. Besides, we were exposing corruption in a federal agency, they’re gonna want to keep that as quiet as possible. Harvey isn’t helping, though. He hasn’t stopped smiling about it all day, keeps asking me where I’ve been hiding my ‘moves’.”

There’s amusement in her voice, and I have to laugh. Playfully, I nudge her in the ribs with my elbow, “Hope you’re gonna show _me_ those ‘moves’, babe.”

My comment is rewarded with a snort muffled by my hair, and I link our fingers together, sobering, “None of this was supposed to come down on you.”

“I made my choice, Kate. I know the consequences.”

It doesn’t do much for my guilt, but her tone leaves no room for argument. So I say nothing. But Maggie doesn’t let the silence linger for long this time.

“I have a proposition for you. I think we should postpone the wedding.”

I think I actually feel my heart plummet into my gut. I twist in her hold, neck straining to get a good look at her as if I’ll be able to find the signs I’ve obviously missed written on the lines in her face.

Please, no. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Mags.

She must see me about to protest, the hurt written on my face, because she speaks again before I can, “Stop. Whatever you’re thinking, stop. Just listen for a second, okay?”

I snap my mouth shut, obedient despite the chasm of dread opening in my gut, threatening to swallow the tentative happiness I’ve finally found.

I feel Maggie’s chest expand as she inhales, a deep breath to prepare her for what she’s about to say. I think I’m going to be sick.

“I know how much Beth means to you – how much _family_ means. I don’t want you to get married without your sister there.”

Oh.

Damn.

_Damn_ , do I not deserve Maggie Sawyer.

I’m crying before I can stop myself – relief, shock, _awe_. She lets me go so I can face her completely, my hands tight around her fingers as I fight the thickness in my throat to speak, “We don’t know how long it’ll take – if she’ll ever get better… I don’t want you to have to wait that long, Mags.”

Her expression is so understanding before it disappears behind the wall of tears swimming in front of my eyes, but I don’t let her pry her hand from mine to cup my cheek like I know she wants to.

“The _when_ doesn’t matter to me, Kate. A month from now, a year from now, five… It won’t change how I feel about you.”

Now the tears are rolling down my cheeks. Thank God for waterproof makeup. I try to laugh, “The caterer is going to hate us.”

I let go of one of Maggie’s hands to brush the back of it over my eyes, but before she can touch my face, I’m sinking to the ground, one knee pressing into the damp timber. She knows what’s coming when I ease the ring from her finger to hold it up to her instead, and her lips pinch together as she shakes her head in amused disbelief.

How many times am I going to do this, she’s probably wondering.

A million.

“Maggie,” I start, gaze levelled at her, “will you marry me?”

The setting sun illuminates her windswept hair and kisses the sheepish smile on her lips and the whites of her teeth poking out from between them. She’s never looked more radiant.

She pulls me back to my feet before she answers, a rare teasing smile on her beautiful face, “Now that I know you’re going to inherit an island…”

 I laugh again, the sound choked by the tightness in my chest, “Oh, I’m going to inherit a lot more than that, babe.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set a few months after the conclusion of Batwoman, pretending Kate and Maggie never split up and Nocturna never happened.

When Kate’s apartment building had been destroyed by Medusa, there was very little we could save. We had woken early, having barely slept, still stiff and sore from the night before, clumsy and awkward with each other in the wake of Kate’s proposal and the revelation that had come with it – and my request to postpone any decision on the matter. Despite being needed back at Central, I went with her just a little after dawn to see the wreckage.

By the time we made it across the city, diverted by multiple road closures and held up by the traffic that ensued, it was difficult to determine what had been destroyed and what had already been salvaged -- as if personal belongings are fair game when they're no longer encompassed by four walls -- by someone else.

At least, as far as we could tell poking through the glass, plaster, and the rest of the unidentifiable now-grey remains, the Operational Heart, a concept that boggled my mind and only added to the migraine already beating at my skull, had been so thoroughly decimated as to leave no trace that it had ever existed. All the technology and equipment Batwoman hadn’t been wearing, was gone.

But whatever small relief that had wrought was quickly overwhelmed by the palpable sense of loss that hung over the place. It wasn’t just Kate and I sifting through the mess, but everyone else who had lived in the building. Families, the elderly, young couples; all scoured desperately through the soot for anything that might belong to them.

By some miracle, or else the smarts that come with having lived in Gotham for long enough to know better than to stay home in a crisis, no one had been in the building at the time. There were no bodies to dig out.

We helped whoever we could, returning toys and documents and anything else we came across to their owners. I assured parents that they could have missing identification replaced, and Kate wrote hundred-thousand dollar cheques on the shoulders of the weeping.

It salved the guilt I felt over not returning to work, and got Kate smiling despite what she had lost.

Most of what had been destroyed was easily replaceable. Clothes, gym equipment, electronics. She had the insurance to cover it, and the funds if they refused -- as the companies were liable to do, being Gotham.

But amongst all the materialistic belongings had been some sentimental ones. Her ghost box, containing photos of her mother and Beth along with other small mementos, was safe at my apartment. The matryoshka doll given to her by her father,  a bear that had belonged to Beth, an old shirt of her mother’s that she had slept in when she was younger, memorabilia from her days at West Point, were not.

She put on a brave face, but underneath it, Kate was distraught. Her distress only grew with the more rubbish we combed through, desperately hoping for something to turn up. Finally, as the sun was setting, we found a single photograph, bent, crumpled, ripped down one side, and so grimy I wouldn’t have recognised Kate if she hadn’t snatched it from my hand. If I squinted hard enough, I could just make out two redheaded girls no more than ten, playing with some kind of toy. A model airplane, Kate said. 

We went home. The photograph went in the box, and Kate sobbed in my lap until she had nothing left.

And for eight months, I forgot about the photograph. There was too much else going on. There was Batwoman to deal with, and the proposal I eventually accepted. We were living together for the first time, and looking for a new place together. The DEO found Beth, Kate had fought to get her back, and then sent her away for treatment. Then there was the custody battle, all the paperwork and flights back and forth between Metropolis and Gotham. And, there, steady through it all, was work.

It took an arson blamed on Firebug -- or whatever ridiculous name he had called himself -- and handed to the MCU for it to come back to me. The crime lab was restoring a photo just like it, suspected of connecting our perp to the family. It was just as badly damaged, but with whatever magic they used down there, the technicians had brought it back to life. Not perfectly, but with enough clarity to convince a jury beyond a reasonable doubt.

So I took the photo from the box and called in a favour. It took another month to get any results. Again, not perfect, but now I could recognise Kate (at least, I think I could tell her and Beth apart), and see the model airplane.

Then, I cooked dinner. When Kate asked what the occasion was, I slid the photo to her in an open envelope. 

She drew it out, slapped her hand over her mouth, looked at me, looked at the photo, looked at me again. Then she cried, and I left my chair to hold her, lips against the crown of her head and arms around her shoulders. 

She struggled out of my embrace to sink to her knees in front of me. “Please marry me,” she said, voice wavering and gorgeous eyes swimming behind a wall of tears.

How could I say no to that?


End file.
